To the Island of Misfits and Back
by Aravyne Elise
Summary: Ivan was a killer. A retired killer. Alfred was a waiter. A waiter whose bruises weren't just appearing out of nowhere. When they meet, Ivan had never of thought himself as a savior, but perhaps he could be Alfred's. RusAme
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! I don't have much to say now other than I hope you enjoy! Please leave a review and tell me what you think!**

 **Disclaimer: Don't own the show, never will. Let's be real here.**

* * *

 **-Chapter One-**

It was warm. Much too warm to be winter, but in California, t-shirts and shorts were not completely crazy during the month of November. Ivan decided this odd weather was preferable to the freezing cold climate in Russia. But he quickly stashed the thought. Because...because he wouldn't think about that.

With a sigh, Ivan looked at the potted sunflower on the sill of the largest window in his bedroom. Its bright yellow petals glowed against the rays of sunlight that streamed in. The brown circle of seeds in the middle of the flower were a perfect contrast to the lively yellow. It carried itself with a slightly bent but proud green stem, tall and thin.

Ivan wished his room, his house, his _life_ was like that beautiful flower: colorful and lively.

He lived in what could be considered a mansion. Three floors of expensive furniture, glass chandeliers, the biggest and best televisions, surrounded by a colorful garden to top it all off. He owned a library, a small movie theater, a huge pool, even a dance and music room; anything and everything he had thought he always wanted. What was too risky to buy in Russia was an easy payment in the United States of America—for different reasons than one might think. Not because of the cost, but because here, he was not looking over his shoulder every few seconds. His trusty metal pipe did not need to go to bed with him. Spending money was normal, envied even. It was okay to call attention to yourself with unnecessarily large and ridiculous living spaces.

Right now, he was Ivan Braginski, a big man with big money. Back then, he was Ivan Braginski, a dangerous man with dangerous people. He did not regret fleeing Russia, but he did crave something else. His younger and older sisters, Natalya and Katyusha, loved the riches and pampering. Their happiness was the reason why Ivan would put up with feeling like he would lose himself in his big, empty mansion. But he wished he could wake and have something, perhaps someone, to look forward to.

Natalya attended a nearby high school. Katyusha went back to medical school to finally pursue her dream of becoming a nurse. Ivan laid in bed and wondered whether or not he should find a hobby.

It was tiresome in an impossible way. He was _tired_ of doing absolutely nothing, but some inexplicable feeling did not allow him to do anything with his life, lest he end up neck-deep in some other illegal business, when he had finally fled from the dangers of Russia. Sometimes he would find it in himself to search the internet for jobs, but there were no eye-catching occupations.

Ivan wanted friends more than anything. He was intimidating, and—although he did not realize it most of the time—cruel to others. It made him an outlier. He scared people into running away, which scared himself at times. He wanted to be hugged when he was feeling sad, wanted love when the world seemed hopeless. Not in the possessive way Natalya held him—it was uncomfortable and unsettling. Not in the tentative way Katyusha held him—it made him feel like he had done something wrong.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a soft knock at the door. With a frown he looked at the sleek black clock on his bedside table. It was obviously Katyusha, for Natalya would not be nearly as gentle, but her classes did not end until late in the afternoon. When he glanced at the clock on his bedside table, the bright green number that met his eyes made him raise a brow. Was it really 2:30 already?

Ivan untangled himself from gray and blue sheets and made his way over to the mahogany brown door at the front of his room.

"Um, hello, brother," Katyusha greeted.

" _Privyet, sestra,"_ Ivan said in his native tongue.

"Vanya, you are forgetting that we are in America. Please try to speak English more often," Katyusha said softly, looking at the floor.

"Of course, forgive me," said Ivan. He spotted a bright green, neatly folded paper in her pale hands. Vaguely, interested, he asked, "Did you want to show me something, sister?"

She lifted her head with unusual enthusiasm. "Ah, yes! I was thinking, brother, you do not seem happy with the way we are living. It makes me very sad. I know Natasha does not like it either. Um, a classmate of mine introduced me to a group for...," she bit her lip, uncertainty written all over her features. Katyusha blurted out, "troubled kids. Like you. You are troubled, brother, and I think other people can be helping you. The sessions start in three weeks, not far from here. Please, _please_ , go." With a nervous glance at Ivan, she thrust out the paper.

Ivan skeptically took it from her hands. Was she calling him crazy? He wouldn't blame her, since he strongly believed the same thing, but hearing Katyusha voice their thoughts made his stomach drop. Well, being insane wasn't illegal, was it? Ivan had no intention of going to this gathering. His problems were nothing like other stupid twenty-three year olds who wanted to commit suicide or suffered from ADHD. Perhaps even my-ego-is-bigger-than-my-head disorder, or maybe antisocial disorder. Although, the latter might have formed somewhere in his mind without his realizing it. Certainly wouldn't be surprising, but admitting to another problem would cause a headache.

"Sister, I am fine. You do not need to worry." Ivan said firmly.

Katyusha's face fell. "Please, brother, I _know_ you are unhappy. You will like it, I am sure."

" _Nyet._ I will not go. It would only make things worse." Ivan made to close the door, but Katyusha's sudden outburst startled him into halting.

"No! Vanya, it has been a year! A year you have only left the house for groceries or to water your sunflowers. A year you have shut us out! I have never been of much use to this family, and you are hurting, you are just not knowing it. Is not right, brother. If you will not be letting us help you, then let others!"

Rarely did she change her kind and patient demeanor so drastically. Ivan was touched, he supposed, but also annoyed. The louder she got, the less she cared for grammar. He was distracted by the thought. For a minute, both were silent. Katyusha had started sniffling, wiping a hand across her tear stained cheeks. Ivan brooded over her words. Hurting? No, not hurting, but he did not like the public. It made him uneasy, and why should he put himself in that situation when he could easily stay home? There was no reason to leave, no reason to wake, to sleep, to live. Moving to America had seemed so grand, but now that he was here, a small part of Ivan wanted to go back to Russia. A seed had been planted into his heart all those years ago in his homeland, when he and his siblings were taken by the evil. Fighting the growing hatred proved fruitless. His pain was nurtured until, at the age of twenty, he was a ruthless murderer who enjoyed doing the deed. He was good at it, too. It was relaxing at times.

Ivan controlled nothing in his life. But he decided how, when, with what the victim was killed. He controlled nothing, except for his power to summon blood from beneath the bruised and battered skin of his victims. And it felt so _good._ He wanted the power.

However, like everything else, that domination slipped through his fingers. As his mind descended into the abyss of insanity, he lost his grip. No longer did he kill for the ecstasy, he killed for the necessity. It was an addiction. And Ivan decided he did not like the feeling of needing something, so he stopped. And left. Fled. Ran. Cowardly. Pathetically. Wea—

"Vanya?" Katyusha said cautiously. "Will you be considering it?"

"No." He narrowed his eyes. "Let me be. You are right when you are thinking I am crazy, _sestra._ I will not hurt anyone, though. I am fine." Ivan closed the door, the paper still clasped tightly between his fingers.

"Just promise me something, _moy mladshiy brat._ " Katyusha persisted through the thick piece of wood separating them.

"What will I be promising, Katyusha?" Ivan asked cautiously.

"Do not hide in this house, Vanya. It is too big for one person. There is a lovely restaurant in the city, across from the big ice cream parlor. Treat yourself tomorrow, please?"

He did not reply. She thought he was hiding. Ivan, an experienced heartless killer, was not hiding. That was ridiculous, there was nothing to hide from.

At his silence, Katyusha had started to cry loudly. Ivan felt a pang of guilt. With a resigned sigh, he said, "I will go, sister. But only this once."

He climbed into his bed and lay there for the rest of the day, thinking over what he had agreed to. It was nothing big, really, but seeing people—interacting with them; that was required to order food, and to pay. What an inconvenience. His intimidating stature usually kept others away, which was a win-win. He would act decidedly cold to the few that approached him, and it was amusing to watch when they scampered away with their tails between their legs.

Well, it couldn't be helped. Ivan would go out for what he was sure would be the last time.

…

Because of his lack of familiarity with the city, Ivan did not find the place his sister had described for about half an hour. When he finally spotted a large sign that said THE AMERICAN DREAM hanging above a small, half-empty restaurant, he sighed in relief and parked in the provided lot.

With a light push, he opened his car door and walked inside of the hole-in-the-wall. A bell chimed above his head as he entered. Circular wooden tables were scattered across carpeted floor. The walls were a warm yellow and pastel blue.

He decided to sit toward the back so that he could have eyes on everything in the restaurant, just for his peace of mind. Nearby, there was a black metal spiral staircase leading to another floor that was overflowing with books, with only three or four tables.

There were also tall bookshelves lining the walls on the first floor, each stuffed with books of all sizes. Ivan spotted medical dictionaries, school textbooks, and comic books. The place was like a mixture of a café, a restaurant, and a library. It was quaint, comfortable, relatively quiet; relaxing.

Immediately, a grinning young man approached him. He had wheat-colored blond hair and bright blue eyes. His outfit consisted of a plaid shirt and pair of worn out looking jeans, covered by a stained black apron. Dirty red converse stuck out beneath his pants. Very American.

"Hey there, good lookin'!" He greeted, "My name's Alfred, and I'll be your waiter today. What can I getcha?"

"I am not sure what I would like yet," Ivan said, picking up a menu from the table and looking at it.

"Okay, we'll start you with a water. Have you been here before?" Alfred asked with a smile.

" _Ny_ -no, I have not." He put the menu down.

"Awesome!"

To Ivan's bemusement, and annoyance, the man sat down across from him in the open seat of the table.

"I haven't seen you before," Alfred said, "are you visiting?"

"I moved here this past year. I do not like leaving my house unless I need to," Ivan explained. He gave Alfred a chilling stare in an attempt to get him away.

Alfred did nothing of the sort. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and nodded his head knowingly. "Mm, I feel ya, dude, there's nothing like laying back in _ma maison_ after a long day _._ Know what that means? It's French for 'my house.'"

Ivan frowned in confusion.

"Yeah," Alfred continued, "my little brother tried to teach me that stupid language. So _hard_ , ugh. Plus, the only Frenchie I know is a real pervert. Think they're all like that?"

The Russian's patience was waning.

"Aren't you the talkative type. What's going on in that head of yours, dude?"

No answer.

"Hey, man, I know you _habla ingles_ so that won't work on me."

First French, now Spanish? Ivan was not-so-slowly becoming angry. He clenched his fists, determined-although not so motivated-to keep from dragging the man into an alley and beating him. _Your old habits are coming out,_ he said firmly to himself, _control it_.

"Okay, let's go with a simpler question: name?" The idiot was talking again.

In hopes of getting Alfred to leave, he reluctantly said, "It is Ivan."

"Ooh, cool. Exotic, I _like_ it! Russian? I'm getting the commie vibe, dude."

The glare Ivan gave him would send lesser men to their knees. "My country is no longer communist."

"Uh, yeah, actually, it is."

"If you do not leave me in the next five seconds, I will show you just how _communist_ I am," Ivan spat.

Alfred raised his hands in the air as a sign of surrender. "Dude, don't take it seriously, this is modern day society! Everyone generalizes these days! _Calmate,_ bro."

"What is this-this thing you are doing?" Ivan asked, distracted. "Why are you speaking in different languages?"

"I'm just testin' out which ones I'm gonna speak in the future," Alfred said confidently. "I mean, I could speak any of 'em if I really wanted to, just so you know, but I'm waiting for the right time."

"Judging by the size of your brain, I do not think the time will ever be right."

Alfred narrowed his eyes. "What're you trying to say, commie?"

"I think that is fairly obvious," Ivan said through gritted teeth, suddenly very enthused to grate on Alfred's nerves. An eye for an eye, after all.

But he realized something: the moron had not shown any signs of fear. No trembling, no crying, no panic; usual symptoms of Ivan's intimidating physique and personality. Not only had Alfred not backed down, but he had risen to the challenge. He had started it. And for that, Ivan gave him begrudging respect, but he could not tell whether it was charisma or stupidity that kept the American standing tall in front of him. The latter seemed more likely.

"You are not scared of me," he stated.

"What, is that a requirement?"

"Of sorts."

"I am _so_ not in the mood for cryptic-ass Ruskie comments right now."

In an instant, Ivan grabbed Alfred's shirt collar and dragged him forward so that they were a mere inch apart. He smiled, a sickeningly sweet smile that finally brought a spark of uneasiness and well-hidden fear from within the American's bright blue eyes. "I would like it if you not refer to me that way. It hurts my feelings, and my feelings are _very_ delicate," he threatened.

Alfred pulled back roughly, glaring. "Asshole." He walked away, his body tense with anger. The restaurant was quiet, all eyes on the two of them, not that either cared, or even noticed the scene they were making.

Ivan had not ordered yet, though. He frowned in disappointment. While that man had certainly-how did they say it?-pushed his buttons, he was still hungry, and Alfred's absence would not solve that problem.

Another thought arose. The American had called him good looking. Was that a normal greeting from one man to another here? Or did that mean his sexual orientation differed from most. Was the compliment supposed to imply that he was interested? Ivan never paid much attention to his looks. The occasional woman had attempted to seduce him back in Russia, but there had always been a reason, and it was never a good one. He knew he was not ugly, but he never cared enough to wonder whether he was handsome. After all, who was he to judge? He figured, if he tried, he could clean up nicely, but the need rarely arose. Ivan didn't even know what gender he liked. He knew Alfred was certainly not ugly, but he felt no attraction to the man-although the feelings of being annoyed and revolted and dismissive were not absent.

In fact, he had never felt an attraction to anyone.

With a the smallest of shrugs, Ivan let the thought dissipate and wander back to his hunger.

To his surprise, however, as he was contemplating whether or not it was faster to wait for another waiter or ask for the manager, Alfred appeared, along with a plate full of food that made a loud clang as he dropped it onto the table unceremoniously.

"Boss man says you'll probably sue 'cause, _apparently,_ and I quote, 'The customer is always right. Especially when they're wearing a five fucking thousand dollar watch.' Geez, what oversensitive asshole came up with that policy? Looks tacky, in case you were wondering. I mean, why don't you just write the numbers instead of some goddamn x's and l's!"

"Roman numerals, you fool," Ivan said. "Are you so stupid that you do no know this?"

He was ignored.

At the sight of three greasy-looking pieces of bacon squished against two equally unappetizing-looking sausages, Ivan frowned. The eggs looked normal, at least.

"I did not order this."

"You didn't order anything, jerkface, this is on the house."

"We are not in a house." Was it another one of those sayings that made no sense? A difficult part of integrating himself into American society was becoming accustomed to the words and phrases that were not usually literal, but code for something else. Ivan was still getting over the disgust of the commonly used "hitting" on someone. Who in their right mind used an abusive term to compare to a mostly sexual situation?

"It's a _saying_ ," Alfred said in an exasperated tone. He spoke with his hands, waving them around. "That means it free. Free food. Doesn't cost nothin'."

"I do not want this. I would like a bowl of fruit." said Ivan, adding a mental tally mark to the growing reasons of irritation from this man after hearing the improper grammar.

Alfred pointed at the plate. "And that?"

"You may have it if you'd like."

Suddenly, Alfred was all smiles. "Really, dude? Aw, thanks, man, you're the best!" He exclaimed, and shoveled the food into his mouth. It was a horrifying sight.

"Have you heard of manners, you pig?" Ivan asked.

Despite the insult, Alfred did not appear bothered. He only shook his head, stuffed his mouth with an egg, and said, "Nah, I believe in efficiency."

"That is disgusting."

Another voice came from across the room. "Jones, what have I told about eating leftovers in front of customers!"

"He didn't want it, boss!" Alfred yelled back at a woman standing next to the kitchen's entrance, who was presumably the manager.

She wiped her hands on the apron covering her green dress and walked over, a scowl on her face. "I swear, if your mother hadn't been such good woman..."

Alfred grinned. "Eliza. _Eliza._ You know you love me."

Eliza rolled her eyes and turned to the forgotten customer, hiding her nervousness behind a smile. "I, uh, I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience, sir," she said, "we'll get you a new plate and a new server right away."

"Is no problem," Ivan replied. "However, I would appreciate if you could control..." He pointed at Alfred.

The boy glared. "Just what are you tryin' to say, huh?"

"That you are an idiot and a terrible waiter."

"Eliza, babe, let's kick him out! You grab a pan, I'll pin him down till then!" Alfred lunged.

Eliza yanked him back by the neck and whacked him upside the head. "That is _Elizabeta_ to you, sweetie." She tightened her grip, but turned back to Ivan. "Do you know what you'd like to eat?"

He nodded. "Two eggs and a side of fruit."

Elizabeta let her employee go and wrote down the order. "Just give me a minute. I'll be back with your order. Move it, Alfred."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going."

"Excuse me?"

Alfred grumbled as he stood. "Yes, ma'am."

"And what do you say to the, er, nice man?" She gestured at Ivan, casting a wary glance.

Alfred balked. "That piece of-?"

" _Alfred Jones._ "

"Jesus, woman!" He huffed, turning to Ivan. "I'm so, so incredibly sorry you couldn't comprehend, Mr. Commie Bastard."

"Say that again." Ivan warned, giving a vicious smile. _What a child,_ he fumed.

"That's it! In the kitchen. You're on dishwater duty for a month. And you are starting your shift at six for the next three weeks!"

"I'm sorry, Ivan! Happy?"

After more apologies for her employee's idiocy and promises of free food, Elizabeta walked back to the kitchen, seemingly satisfied by the response of both men. Alfred started to follow.

"Follow your master, dog," Ivan taunted, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms with a smirk.

Alfred spun around, flipping up his middle fingers and waving them around in Ivan's direction.

Ivan chuckled. He was thoroughly unimpressed by the service, and wondered if it was like this everywhere; although he hoped that wasn't the case. Still, it was amusing, despite the boiling rage.

In less than a minute, his order arrived, catered by a much more polite brunet whose name was Toris, but the young looking man started trembling as he set down the plate, his fear radiating in waves. Pity.

Ivan snatched a psychology textbook from one of the bookshelves, skimming through it as he ate.

It was an almost pleasant experience. Between the very easily conjured anger caused by the American boy and the entertainment from consequential situation, Ivan told himself he would not mind doing it again, but chose not to tell that to Katyusha. It really wasn't all that bad, but there was something, something he couldn't put his finger on, that kept him from turning on the light of the pitch black room he had holed up in in his mind, from crawling out of his cave and back into civilization, from creating a new life for himself, a real one.

Ivan pulled into the driveway of his home at eleven o'clock. He had left at nine.

He was not in the mood to lie in bed, so tending to his sunflowers in the backyard was the next best option. The time went quickly. His sisters arrived, and he found himself sitting in the dining room for an early dinner, much to the surprise of all three of the siblings.

There was a long pause.

"I-I'm very glad you are eating with us today, brother," Katyusha said after the food was placed and they were seated.

Ivan stayed silent, unsure as to why he was about to dine with his family when it had been a year since he had done it last.

Katyusha changed the subject, turning to Natalya, who was giving her brother an unfathomable stare. "Natasha," Katyusha used the nickname Ivan had given the youngest of the three, "how was school today?"

"Fine, sister." Natalya looked down at her food, pushing it around her plate.

There was a layer of awkwardness that was draped over them like a blanket. It was obvious there was an uncomfortable level of uncertainty that pointed at Ivan's presence, despite the relief and surprise. Ivan felt an uncomfortable pang of sadness when he understood how much he threw his sisters off. He stood, making to leave, but Natalya was quick to grab his hand in a bone-crushing grip.

Ivan started, ready to make a run for it (he was not scared, just very aware of how good his sister was with a knife, and how she kept one strapped to the inside of her thigh). Her eyes were staring straight at him, fierce, demanding, but also filled with desperation. "I will be graduating this year, big brother. I will be given an award for having the highest grade of my class."

Ivan sat back down cautiously, looking at Natalya. She had always unsettled him, what with her unhealthy-for both parties-obsession with him. She scared him, even. But here she was, almost grown up, so different-yet exactly the same-as the girl he had helped raise all those years ago. She was a little more independent now, he could tell, but there was still the hint of want and need in her eyes. That want and need was for her brother they all knew, that want and need that never changed, was never satisfied, was always there.

"That is wonderful, Natalya," Ivan said, careful to keep the self-loathing of his voice, for his sister's sake, lest she mistake that he was directing it at her. After all, he had all but ignored them for a year, yet they still seemed to gladly accept his presence, although it was not completely obvious, masked by the loss at what to do with their beloved protector suddenly reappearing. And he _knew_ that they were silently praying it was the nicer Ivan that returned, not the one craving for blood. "I am proud of you."

Natalya let him go, her face portraying that of a child who yearned for approval, and was proud as hell to have gotten it. But there was no smile, for that was one expression she seemed incapable of.

"And what of college, Natasha?" Katyusha's proud smile was laced with mild alarm at the thought of her sister and college in one sentence.

"I have been accepted into UVPD. They have given me a scholarship. I will be pursuing biotechnological engineering."

"Ah, you are very smart indeed, Natalya, far smarter than the two of us," Ivan chuckled.

"Vanya is right," Katyusha smiled. "You will do so well!"

Natalya nodded her head, almost shyly. "Thank you, brother, sister."

The rest of dinner was eaten in silence, but the spell had been broken. The tense atmosphere had vanished.

They had never been a particularly talkative family, so no more conversation was needed. The girls were in a slight disbelief. After months and months of waiting, it seemed their brother was finally coming back to them. _But how?_ they wondered. The question was disregarded quickly. It did not matter _how_ , it mattered that _no,_ this wasn't a dream, he was there, talking,

smiling almost, protecting, as he always had.

Once Natalya left, claiming she still had homework-accompanied by a hesitant farewell to her big brother-Katyusha and Ivan were left alone.

"How are your classes, Katyusha?" he asked.

"Very nice," she responded, "my classmates are very kind. As are the teachers."

"I am glad to hear this news."

"How was breakfast?"

"It was not bad."

Katyusha smiled and grabbed one of Ivan's hands between hers, giving a small squeeze. "I am glad to hear this news," she whispered.

He squeezed back, but looked down. "…What am I doing, Katyusha?"

"What do you mean?"

"I have no place here, I cannot-"

" _Moy brat,_ you will always have a place. I can only hope that place is here, with us, but you are right, I do not think it is. Do not be thinking that is wrong."

A moment of silence, hesitation.

"But you will not find your place unless you look for it...Look for it, Vanya. Please try to look for it."

 _Vanya._ How long had it been since she called him that? How long had it been since they had a conversation long enough for that nickname to be used? It brought back a rushed flood of memories where his sister had been the one protecting him. "Is not so easy."

"It is."

"Do not-"

"It is, brother."

"...Perhaps," Ivan agreed finally. Then he stood. "I will sleep now, sister."

"Goodnight, Vanya."

"Goodnight, Katyusha."

"Oh, please, wait a second."

"What is it?"

"I am going shopping two days from now. Will you come from me?"

There was no answer.

"Vanya. Please come with me?"

"I do not want to."

"Please come with me."

Katyusha left Ivan at his bedroom door before he could say no. She did not like being assertive, because it always seemed to go hand in hand with rudeness. But it was about time someone opened her little brother's eyes, for he would not do so willingly.


	2. Chapter 2

**a/n: Wow. This is SO late wtf. I'm sorry! I just wasn't sure if I would continue this, but I probably will?**

 **Anyway, hope you like it! I don't know if I've mentioned Ivan's age yet, but if I have, I'll go back and change it sometime..this year. Because I'm lazy. Clarification - Ivan: 26, Alfred: 23.**

 **I always forget to do the stupid disclaimer! UUGH. No, I don't own Hetalia. Can we all agree I never will? Yes? Good, then continue one with that knowledge, because I'm too lazy to put that before EVERY chapter. (seriously, why?)**

* * *

 **-Chapter 2-**

Ivan raised an unimpressed eyebrow as he walked down the cereal aisle. "Americans would not be so fat if they did not eat so many unhealthy foods," he said.

"Vanya!" Katyusha chided lightly. "Please do not say such things."

"Is true, sister, there is nothing natural in this store. I do not see why we cannot eat from our garden."

Natalya appeared behind him suddenly, latching on the arm that wasn't carrying a half empty basket.

"There is no meat in our garden, brother." From any other person, it would have been a normal sentence; coming from Natalya, it was some sort of threat.

"Ah, y-you are right, Natasha, let us get m-meat," Ivan stuttered out, quickly losing the battle in getting his sister to let go of his arm. It was already starting to get tingly from the lack of blood flow.

Natalya made a satisfied nod and led him to the meat department.

Grocery shopping was relatively painless. Ivan was given a very venom-lacking speech by his older sister when he caused the other people in their line to scurry away. Katyusha sometimes forgot he did not do it purposely.

This time he had, though. Ivan was surprised she was still able to tell when he did and didn't take advantage of his vengeful glare.

He figured the faster they paid, the faster they would get out. He couldn't shake away the bad feeling he had in his stomach.

And he was right.

As they left the store, of _course_ he saw a familiar blond stapling flyers to a huge cardboard box that held watermelons. And at that moment, the blond saw him. Ivan swore some god in the sky had a grudge against him.

"Sister, please hu-"

"Hey, big guy!" Alfred called to him.

Ivan groaned internally, but smoothly replied with, "Hello, little one."

Alfred frowned at the subtle insult much to Ivan's delight. But immediately after he perked up when he spotted Ivan's sisters standing uncertainly behind him, Katyusha with a hopeful expression and Natalya with a hateful glare.

The obvious resemblance between the three siblings made it easy for Alfred to guess how they were related.

"Hey guys, I'm Alfred!"

Katyusha smiled. "Hello, my name is Katyusha. Are you a friend of my brother's?"

"Sure am!" Alfred responded, surprising all three siblings.

"Oh, how wonderful!" Katyusha said with an enthusiastic clap of her hands. "How long have you known each other."

"Ivan and I go waaay back, Kat." He said cheerfully. He slung an arm around Ivan's shoulders.

Ivan tried his best not to shove him off. Alfred's touch alone made him to tense, made his neck burn slightly with anger. Did this idiot not know _anything_ about personal space?

"You did not tell me about Alfred, Ivan," Katyusha said, turning to her brother.

Hiding a sneer, he adjusted his position with the obnoxious American so he could elbow him in the back without anyone seeing. Alfred responded with a push of his own-it had gone unseen, of course-which was surprisingly forceful, but did practically nothing to the Russian, who had been taught to deal with much worse.

"It did not come up." Ivan said through gritted teeth.

Katyusha was oblivious. She was too busy being overjoyed at the sight of her brother getting along so well with another human being. She was also touched that Ivan's nice friend had given her a nickname. Perhaps it was a sign of friendliness in America?

"What is it that you are doing here, Alfred?" she asked.

He grinned and held up a bright yellow paper. "I was hangin' up some flyers for our support group back on Cambers Ave."

Katyusha could not have smiled wider in return. "Are you speaking of the one-oh, what was his name-ah, yes! The one Leon attends?"

"Sure is!" Alfred exclaimed. "His older brother was one of the guys who started it, actually. You interested? Like, not being offensive or anything, you guys don't look fucked u-er, I mean, messed up or anything, but people get really shy about their issues and shi-stuff." He winced at the cussing, but tried to be considerate of the pretty lady.

Ivan pushed him away, and Alfred stumbled back-ready to retort-but Katyusha interrupted him.

"Well, I was hoping Ivan would go, but you are right," she nodded solemnly, "he does get shy."

Alfred gave Ivan a flat stare. _Shy_ wasn't a word he'd use to describe it.

"But you will convince him to go, yes?"

"'Course I will! Ivan, and I say this from the bottom of my heart, I would _love_ for you to come," Alfred said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "It's real fun and everyone's super supportive and cool."

" _Nyet_ ," Ivan said with flaring eyes.

He pulled his sister aside and spoke to her in Russian to avoid the ears of unwanted people-specifically, person. Even more specifically, Alfred.

" _You had no right to do that, Katyusha,"_ he said in a furious tone.

" _It is my duty to help you. That is what I am doing! You do not realize it, but you have become unhappy. The internet was very adamant about that."_

Ivan blinked. Unhappy? Of course he was unhappy. But that didn't mean she should have mentioned anything.

" _That does not matter. I will not go._ "

" _Yes you will, brother!"_

They went back and forth, arguing but getting nowhere.

At the same time, Natalya had stalked up to Alfred once she saw that her siblings were occupied. "Do not come near him ever again." she said, poison injected in the sentence.

Alfred stumbled over his words for a second, surprised at the innocent-looking girl's ferocity. "H-hey now, I'm just tryin' to help your brother out."

"You are doing no such thing, fiend."

"Fiend? Are you-are you for real? Dude, that's like, not even from this century. I mean, if you're gonna be an ass, you gotta do it right, you know?"

Natalya frowned.

Alfred smiled and leaned closer, looking around before turning back to her as though they were exchanging secrets.

"Okay, here's the deal, you want to insult me, go for it, but you have to do it _effectively,_ yeah?"

"I…do not understand."

"Well, I suggest using words from-wait, how old are you? Because I really don't want your middle school teacher calling me in when you start cussing everyone out." He scratched the back of head with a mildly concerned expression and continue rambling, "After what happened with Peter, Tino won't even let me near the little guy! It was _one_ time! I swear, this teacher was being a jerk to him, so I have to be the hero and tell him how to protect himself, right? And how cou-"

"I cannot tell if you are stupid or a narcissistic ass," Natalya said, her eyebrow raised in an unimpressed stare.

 _Wow. She and her older brother are_ way _too much alike,_ Alfred thought, but beamed anyway. "Dude, that was good!"

"I meant it."

"Even better, Nat, it's-"

"Do not call me that, you swine." Natalya growled.

The American continued past the interruption. "-the passion behind your wonderfully bitchy words that count. Well, we'll think of that last one as two steps forward, one step back." That was how the phrase went, right?

"I hate you. Very much, you ass."

Alfred nodded sagely. "I see you are learning. You've made me proud, grasshopper. With time comes irrevocably rude words that make the world go round, that's what I always say."

Natalya narrowed her eyes. "I do not think I have ever wished misfortune upon someone so quickly."

"It's a gift, sweetheart."

"I would like to kill you."

Alfred grinned. "The feeling's mutual." He patted her on the shoulder and she slapped his hand away.

"What is mutual?" Came Ivan's voice as he and Katyusha entered the conversation.

"Oh, you know, how much your sister and I just _love_ each other's company. No joke, she's the angel's reincarnate." Alfred snapped his fingers."Or is it the devil's? Damn, I always forget how the phrase goes." He sent a smile in Natalya's direction.

She sent back a sneer.

Katyusha frowned slightly, unsure as to what was behind the looks they were sending each other. "Um, Alfred, I was wondering if I could have a flyer for the-"

"You got it, babe," he handed her a paper, then shoved one in Ivan's face. "I'm gonna see you at the next meeting, right?"

He could see the Russian's jaw tighten. "I believe so."

Katyusha put an arm on her brother's shoulder. Alfred could see his tense muscles just barely relax against her touch, his furious eyes becoming more passive as she whispered to him quietly in Russian. Ivan nodded in response to something she said, doing nothing more before turning and walking away.

"Quite the social butterfly." Alfred said sarcastically.

"He was not always like this," murmured Katyusha.

Alfred's lips twisted. "So what changed?"

Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I am sorry, Alfred, but that is not my story to tell. I hope we will run into each other again."

"Sure, Kat. Nice meetin' ya. You too, Nata...where'd she go?"

Katyusha sighed almost inaudibly. "After her brother. She loves him very much."

"Er, yeah," Alfred said awkwardly, not knowing when the air had become so strained. "I should get going, but, uh, the meeting's on Friday, so…"

"Of course. You have been wonderful, Alfred, thank you for your help. Ivan will be there."

"Aw, shucks, Kat, I'm just trying to do my duty as the hero of this town."

"Ah, yes," Katyusha laughed, "you are our hero."

"I get that a lot." He beamed. "But I can, er…" he coughed into his hand, "I can pick up your brother from your house. If you want. I mean, whatever."

"Oh, that would be nice!"

"Cool, what's your address?"

"1191 Boston Avenue."

"1191 Boston Avenue. Got it. I'll be there at six."

"Thank you. Goodbye."

"Bye." Alfred said with with a friendly wave.

…

 _Ivan let out a pained breath as the blood-stained whip created a long cut down the front of his chest. Crimson liquid seeped out, making the sudden urge to vomit very difficult to fight. The rope binding his arms above his head dug into the scabs that had just started healing, adding red to the blue and green bruises._

 _He hated this. His throat burned and his eyes could barely stay open. They would not let him sleep, or eat, or do anything other than feel pain._

" _This is for your own good, my son."_

" _I am not your son," he growled._

 _Another two lashes._

" _Is that so? You see, I have been making this easy for you, but when you defy me like this, I cannot stop myself." Ivan felt sweat run down his forehead. Eyes as cold as a Russian winter met his. They were cruel, angry, and filled with glee. Ivan closed his eyes as dread pooled inside his stomach. They were like a snake's, and looked far too much like his own. "Tell me what you know."_

" _I don't know anything," Ivan responded immediately in a monotonous voice._

" _You are_ lying."

 _A metal-tipped boot collided with his stomach._

" _I do not know anything," he choked out, disgusted by the taste of iron that invaded his mouth._

" _Look at me when I talk to you."_

 _He reluctantly did as he was told, lips twisted with hate._

" _That's better. Where are they holding her?"_

 _How long are we going to do this before you are satisfied? "I was not informed."_

" _Tell me what you know."_

" _I do not_ know anything!" _Ivan roared suddenly, feeling very exhausted._

" _You are_ lying!"

" _I AM NOT!"_

 _A sickening crack echoed in the dark and barren room. Ivan let out a strangled gasp. And then he was gripped by a scorching fire that made him scream in agony. He screamed and screamed and screamed, not knowing what else to do. But it wasn't going away. All thoughts vanished, replaced by a relentless pain that he could not pinpoint; it was everywhere. Bile forced its way up his throat. What was happening?_

 _A door opened, then closed._

" _Oh for Christ's sake," he heard someone say. It was difficult for his many to comprehend anything other than_ pain pain pain _, "That fucker's crazy, killin' the kid like this."_

" _He didn't kill him. He'll live, Alec."_

" _Go get Marina, you stupid fucker, and make sure the kid doesn't bleed out."_

" _Wasn't his fault."_

" _Bullshit. He didn't have to go so far.."_

" _It's torture training. What did you expect?"_

 _"He's nine, asshole."_

 _There was silence. Then, "Since when has that made a difference?"_

Ivan bit back a shout, rising from the tangled and sweaty sheets of his bed. He curled his fists so tightly his nails made red crescents in his skin as he put them against his eyes and hunched over. Phantom pain ran through his body like an electric shock.

The nightmares again. Always the nightmares.

Ivan looked at his clock, breathing heavily. 4:34 p.m. With a groan, he slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom to take a cold shower, well aware that he would not be going back to sleep.

He shouldn't have been surprised by the reappearance of his dreams, but it had been at least three weeks since he had one bad enough that it stuck in his mind, even after waking up.

The cold water felt good against his feverish skin. But he was still tired. He wanted a good night's sleep, he wanted good dreams; he was so _tired._ Why couldn't it all go away? Ivan leaned his forehead against the cool navy tiles. There was nothing he could do about the lingering memories, nothing that would keep them away.

Ivan needed help. He needed help from another person, another human being. How long had it taken him to admit that?

His entire life. Yet…he had never been so alone.

His thoughts drifted back to the so called support group that he was being guilt-tripped into attending. It was difficult to imagine that he could be helped by others whose problems were probably nothing like what he was experiencing. They weren't having bad dreams about the their days in torture training, or climate training, or poison training. _Training, training, training._ They probably weren't trying to forget their days being molded into a killing machine, or trying to convince themselves that murdering _didn't_ feel good, because it was wrong, no matter what they were told.

But there was still the slimmest of hope that stayed buried in the back of his mind, thinking perhaps there was a chance that this was the right thing to do. Maybe going to see others would make him better, not worse.

But how? What was the cure to his illness? What _was_ his illness? Depression? Mild anxiety? Trust issues? _All of the above,_ Ivan thought bitterly. There were more too. A lot more. He didn't even think he was sane, technically. His mental balance was constantly adding more weight to one side, always leaning more toward his sudden urges to hurt and kill and punish. They certainly weren't sound thoughts, which, according to the definition, meant he had a few screws loose. It was funny how that didn't bother him all that much. It was more a feeling of acceptance. After all, he had to come to terms with his nature at _some_ point, else he would have hated himself too much to function.

"Vanya," Katyusha's voice scattered his thoughts. "It is 5:15, Alfred will be here soon."

Ivan didn't respond, but his sister did not call again to make sure he heard; they lived silently together, like wind and water, both quiet intermittently, speaking up only to whistle wind through the air or crash waves against worn down rocks.

So he would be seeing Alfred again? He didn't know what to think of that. The American was intriguing, at least. His spectrum of emotions seemed to range in every direction; mad one minute and happy the next. But his obnoxiously nosey personality was very annoying. As was the lack of grammar, manners, and anything else pertaining to chivalry. He was not afraid, though. And Ivan wondered why that was.

He decided to wait, to let time create a more defined judgment.

The loud doorbell echoed throughout the house just as Ivan finished drying his hair. He took his time walking downstairs, tempted to lock the door to his room and send Alfred on his way. Was it really necessary? Katyusha hadn't been so insistent on something in years. In fact, she'd never been this insistent, period. If she truly thought this would help him, Ivan would do it for her sake, but not without showing how much he _didn't_ want to go to the meeting.

Alfred wore jeans, a red pair of Converse, and a shirt with one of those superheroes plastered on the front. He looked comfortable in an old bomber jacket. Its worn leather and thick fur shoulder padding seemed warm enough in the freezing weather.

And why was it so cold all of a sudden? It was as though California were some bipolar teenage girl.

The American grinned and saluted in the doorway. "Hey, y'all!"

Natalya entered the lounge through the dining hall, practically hissing at the man. "Why are you here?"

"I'm borrowing your brother for the night, m'lady."

"Please, Natasha," Katyusha said worriedly, "he is here to take Ivan to the support group we talked about."

"I would like to come also."

"Sorry, Nat, there ain't room left in my car."

"You're trying to keep me from coming," she snarled.

" _Or_ I'm telling the truth. Unless you want to sit in your brother's lap-" she seemed too pleased by the idea. Ivan may have been a complete asshole, but he didn't want to condemn the poor guy. "-oh! You know what, I just remembered, that's illegal." He gave her a not-so-apologetic look. "Hm, bummer. Welp, let's get going, commie, the night is young!"

Ivan let out a quiet breath of what the American assumed was relief.

"Yes, being late is an American thing to do. Come, Alfred," said Ivan, walking past him and into the night.

Alfred threw his hands into the air, following close behind. "Really, dude?" He called after him.

As they pulled out of the driveway, Alfred rolled down the window of car and yelled, "See ya later, ladies! Stay safe!"

"We go in my car next time," Ivan said, unimpressed by the messy and beat up old car. It smelled of grease and bubblegum, an odd mixture that wasn't terrible, but would be better with a damn air freshener.

"Sure, whatever, I bet you've got a nice-ass car," Alfred glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He nodded to himself, for what reason Ivan didn't even try to guess. "Listen, man, I've gotta ask: what's with the scarf? Seriously, I've got nothing against pink, that's totally cool, but with the whole macho-macho thing you've got going on, it looks pretty out of place,"

"'Macho-macho'?"

"Tough, kinda scary, y'know? Macho-macho!" Alfred explained with a grin. "But I want my answer."

Ivan looked out the window, away from the driver. "And I why should I give it to you?"

"I'll...tell you something about me in return." Alfred suggested eagerly.

Ivan sighed. It wasn't that he wouldn't share such meaningless information-that's what he reasoned, anyway-but telling anything to Alfred just didn't seem like the thing to do. He felt like a child who didn't want to give any candy to a sibling. There was also an uncomfortably loud nagging voice that insisted he would be laughed at. "My sister gave it to me."

"That's nice," Alfred said, sincerely as far as the Russian could tell. A much better reaction than expected.

Ivan's eyes softened. "Yes, she is very kind."

"And the coat?"

"That's another question."

"Which usually entails another answer," Alfred quipped. "C'mon, it was ninety degrees on Wednesday, and you were wearing it anyway. It must've been like an oven in there!"

"It was a gift." Ivan didn't say anything else, refused to, even after the narrow-eyed stare he was given.

" _O_ -kay, be vague, whatever."

He gave a small smirk. "And what is it that you will tell me about yourself?"

"Hm. Well, what do you want to know?"

"Nothing in particular. I leave it up to you to decide."

"Um, okay then." Alfred drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he thought.

Five minutes past, and still he said nothing.

"I hate jewelry." Alfred said just as Ivan was about to protest against his silence.

He wasn't sure he heard correctly. "You hate jewelry?"

"Yeah. Hate it."

Of all the things to say… "Why is that?"

Alfred shrugged. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, staring hard at the road when there was nothing there. Ivan could very easily tell there a lot more behind it, but let it slide. He'd had enough conversation for one night already.

He didn't say a word until Alfred slowed down, announcing their arrival. "Alright, commie, we're here."

Ivan rolled his eyes. He refused to rise to the bait. They'd be arguing in the car all night if he did that. Instead, he got out and looked at their destination.

It was big, but not too big, yellow, but not too yellow, and...there was something very different about it. Perhaps it was the way the windows were different sizes and the door was bright purple. Or the way he could see different colored lights coming from each floor. And certainly because the statue in front of the building looked like a mixture between a man and a wild animal.

He began to seriously question his sister's decisions.

"Well, what're you waitin' for?" Alfred shouted excitedly, beckoning him with a hand, "Let's go!"

* * *

 **a/n: I realized writing from Ivan's point of view is a total pain in the ass, but it's a bit too late at this point. Por favor, lemme know what you think? I'm not really getting the tone that I wanted, so I'd love some input on whether or not this Ivan is okay!**


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